


Old Wizards and New Tricks

by Ineffably_eowyn



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Education, Gandalf Does Not Know All, Gandalf is a grump, M/M, Multi, Online learning, Undying Lands, bit of a modern AU crossover, education philosophy & praxis, no beta we all fall like crowley, vague asexual relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ineffably_eowyn/pseuds/Ineffably_eowyn
Summary: In hindsight, much of the problems created by the fool of a Took could have been avoided had Gandalf paused to explain things once in a while. There was no way around it: Gandalf would have to become a more effective pedant, and though the Undying Lands enjoyed a utopian reputation, even upon arrival the air had tasted of trouble brewing.Or, Gandalf takes an online class on effective teaching.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Kudos: 10





	1. Course Syllabus

It had recently been pointed out to Gandalf (none too gently, though kindly) that a good deal of the trouble caused by the young, reckless fool of a Took could have been avoided.

Explanations, it seemed, where what the young and foolhardy required in these times. Simple respect for and obeisance of a wizard’s authority was too much to ask.

Gandalf would have to become a more effective pedant, and though the Undying Lands enjoyed a utopian reputation, even upon arrival the air had tasted of trouble brewing.

“You’d best save yourself some trouble now,” said Bilbo. “Since you buggered it last time with the Took.”

Gandalf had glared hard enough at the old hobbit to melt again the sword that was broken. It had no effect on Bilbo Baggins.

And so, here was Gandalf in a hitherto unknown room in the immeasurable (and possibly infinite) Undying Library, sitting in front of a machine the likes of which had never been seen in Middle Earth and wouldn’t for quite some time.

In front of him it read _EdX_ , and beneath that:

_Leading Ambitious Teaching and Learning_

Gandalf sucked hard on his pipe and when he blew out the smoke, it arranged itself into a very rude gesture before dissipating toward the ceiling.


	2. Unit 1: On Embracing Your Teaching Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf tackles unit 1 of his teaching course, and is ambushed by undesireables.

When in the Elven halls of the Undying Lands, Gandalf had of late been making efforts to avoid the young elflings that seemed to be appearing at twice the usual rate. If one asked the wizard, he would say the evasion was due to the underdeveloped sense of logic and the odd way that elflings looked gravely upon activities meant to bring joy. It was unnerving. If Gandalf asked himself, the answer was similar.

If Gandalf were to be honest with himself, it was mainly because they were nothing like hobbits, and Saruman had been right about one thing: he had become unusually fond of the halflings, of their desire for nothing more than the simple pleasure brought from food and company. He looked at the elflings, saw they held not the joy and exuberance of hobbits, and left it at that.

Once, he had left some magic toys in one of the rooms the elflings had frequented, and when he peeked in later they were not marvelling but – the nerve! – dismantling the things, trying to work out their inner mechanisms. Gandalf had made a point of learning the names of those offending children – Alassë, Gilraen, and Oropher – and glaring at them wordlessly whenever he found himself in their vicinity. They seemed not to notice.

The course on teaching – led by one Claudia Jennings – had opened with an invitation to reflect on one’s teaching identity, whatever that meant. As soon as Gandalf had formed that thought, he found out that the teaching identity was “the belief, values, and commitments an individual holds towards being a teacher (as distinct from another profession).”[1]

That was the kicker, wasn’t it, Gandalf mused to Bilbo later as the hobbit picked alternately at a lute (poorly) and at a truly remarkable amount of vittles (enthusiastically). Gandalf wasn’t a teacher: he was a wizard.

“But is wizardry a profession or a birthright?” Bilbo asked, taking the opportunity to pluck a few sour notes at the lute. “Are you a wizard because you are, or because you choose to be?”

“I am what I am,” said Gandalf, “and perhaps so are fools. They are what they are.”

“Then you’re the fool,” said Bilbo, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was insulting, in a rather cavalier fashion, the most powerful being within ten leagues’ radius[2]. “I changed, didn’t I, from a doddering, dull hobbit into a fierce warrior.”

“And again into an old poet,” Gandalf replied, removing the offensive instrument from Bilbo’s grip. “The point remains: I do not see myself as teaching anyone anything, and so how can I define my identity?”

There were, of course, prompts, of which Gandalf did not mention to Bilbo, because Bilbo would insist on examining each. The wizard had given up after the first, because it asked what attitudes were held toward learners. What did effective pedagogy look like to you?

Gandalf had a few thoughts on this, none of which were well-received in the community classroom forum:

  1. Given that his role was required for and instrumental to the continued freedom and safety of the world, effective pedagogy was what had folk doing what they needed to do
  2. Given that he was an immensely powerful and wise being, his orders should be followed without question, to avoid such circumstances as waking Balrogs and drawing the Eye of Sauron
  3. Most common folk, particularly the types who seemed to find themselves in earth-changing adventures, where uncommonly stupid. While this was not a bad thing (Gandalf was actually quite fond of the stupid – they were able to find joy where others found only conundrum), it was a fact that necessitated a return to point #2



According to teaching_star_99, Gandalf’s views were offensive at best and indicative of sociopathy at worst. C_Jennings reminded the community that kindness, compassion, empathy and professionalism are all key components of their community agreements, and perhaps teaching_star_99 could reword their response more respectfully.

Gandalf really didn’t see any point in respectful rewording – teaching_star_99 was clearly nothing of the sort, and also clearly in need of some actual skills to build their self-confidence. He left the room in the library, throwing open the door with a tilt of his staff, much to the surprise of the elfling lingering on the other side.

It was Gilraen, standing gravely before the door. In her hands was one of the trinkets Gandalf had left for the elflings. Gandalf spotted, with little effort, Oropher and Alassë behind a pillar, Oropher’s shock of red hair giving him away. Gilraen’s hair was the same colour, braided intricately.

Rather annoyingly, though Gilraen flinched when the door was thrust open, her first order of business was to crane her neck past the wizard in an attempt to peer into the room. Only when the door shut with rather more force than necessary did she turn emerald eyes upon the wizard.

Gandalf stared down at her. Out of the corner of his eye he spied the other two elflings creeping closer – a glance out from under his eyebrows sent them scurrying back.

“Do you have any more of these?” Gilraen asked, holding up the toy. It was an instrument that played itself when sung to, finding and matching the singer’s melody. “We think we figured it out.”

“Figured it out.”

“Yes, we puzzled it – we discovered how you built it.”

“I did not build it,” said Gandalf, irritated. “Gimli the dwarf built it using the secret craft of his fathers.”

“The one who has made a home with the prince?” hissed one of the two elflings behind the pillar, and Gandalf glowered. Despite that, the stupid question gave him comfort only for that it was such. There was only one dwarf here, and this was common knowledge, so to ask such a question meant that these elflings were not all gravity and mirthlessness. Perhaps.

“He didn’t enchant it, though,” said Gilraen. “You must have done that.”

“Your question?”

“Do you have more?” Gilraen once again held up the toy, and Gandalf was infuriated to see that it had indeed been taken apart and inexpertly put back together. He snatched it from her hands and glared at it.

“Can you not enjoy something for enjoyment’s sake?” he growled. “I suggest you ask the dwarf to make you more things using his _ancient craft_ that you can then destroy, and see how far your elven grace gets you.”

The elfling paled. With the exception of occasions where the imbibing of liquor was not only tolerated but encouraged, the dwarf was rarely seen in the halls, preferring instead the forge he had built outside his home. This combined with the simple fact he was a dwarf had given him a fearsome reputation among elflings. Gandalf made a mental note to spend more time around Gimli if these children continued to pester.

“The door!” Alassë hissed from behind the pillar, and Gilraen straightened her already perfect posture.

“This room was not here before,” she said. “Do you make it so?”

“How would you know, elfling?” They were deep in the library. They shouldn’t know.

“We come here often. To read and to learn,” she replied. “What do you do in there?”

Gandalf huffed and locked the door with a flick of his hand. “I perform very important feats of wizardry within,” he said, “and it concerns not the likes of you.”

Emerald eyes the size of saucers gazed up at him, their pure seriousness goading Gandalf to add, “What would elflings want in a library anyway? You are children; you should be avoiding these dusty places of knowledge. Go, run barefoot in the grass! Learn to throw rocks with pinpoint accuracy! Eat, drink, and be merry, for you will be young for less time than you think!”

With a certain amount of satisfaction at having put these elflings on the right path, at least, how deliciously teacher-like, and teaching_star_99 could take their psychiatric assumptions and place them into the deepest pit of Moria, Gandalf turned and left.

Three pairs of eyes gazed after him, and then Oropher said, softly, because this was after all a library, “Do you suppose we’re meant to throw stones _while_ barefoot?”

[1] Hsieh, Betina. _Exploring the Complexity of Teacher Professional Identity_. 2010.

[2] It may be relevant to note that this number is based only on the fact that Gandalf had not yet bothered to find out what or who lay beyond ten leagues’ radius of the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on Saturdays! Comments and kudos appreciated and cherished - let me know what you think.  
> Canon inaccuracies will be rampant - but it's also about Gandalf taking an online class, so let's not be too picky.


	3. Unit 2: The Philosophy of Teaching - Bahktin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf seeks asylum from the children with Gimli, and discusses some of the philosophy of teaching he's been learning about. A recounting of Gimli's recent escapades.

“Clever tykes,” said Gimli, turning the reconstructed instrument around in his hands. “No finesse, no artistry, but at the very least they got all the little pieces in the right spots.”

Gandalf puffed on his pipe. “They missed the point entirely. And now it’s sour.”

“It can be mended.” Gimli turned back to the fire of his forge, an impressively large fire that dwarfed – no pun intended – its maker.\

Since their arrival in the Undying Lands, Gandalf’s companions had gone a variety of ways. Frodo and Bilbo had settled quite nicely in the great hall, dedicating their time to poetry and writing their book and eating copious amounts of food. Gandalf – well, he had his own pursuits. Legolas had generated quite a bit of wariness by twitching his hand over his shoulder every time someone remarked on the oddity of Gimli’s presence (this despite the fact he did not usually have his bow with him these days). As a result, he and Gimli had gone and built a house of their own, attached to which was both an observatory tower and a forge. Gimli never visited the observatory (“I saw stars aplenty when we literally had to sleep outside, elf,” he had growled the one time Legolas had tried to wake him, and promptly returned to earth-shattering snores). Legolas disliked the forge intensely, the smoke and heat too much for him, and had only ever been there three times. (“Elf! Elf!” Gimli had bellowed, and twice Legolas had sprinted in, wide-eyed, expecting to find the dwarf aflame, and had instead been expected to admire a newly-minted dwarvish creation[1].)

Gandalf found comfort in dark, warm, smoky rooms, and this one reminded him particularly of the dwarven-halls that had been rebuilt in the Lonely Mountain. He added his own smoke to the mix and said, “I thought dwarf-trinkets were not to be trifled with.”

Gimli, bathed in sweat, found still more heat to glower. “I wouldn’t be calling it a trinket, were I you,” he said, and Gandalf realized with a start that Gimli had lost a good deal of the strangled awe he once looked upon Gandalf with. Yes, there was indeed something wrong with the air here.

Gimli plunged a delicately-wrought hair fastener, wrought of the last of the mithril he had been able to get his hands on before leaving Middle-Earth, into water. The air hissed and Gimli said, “Why are you so upset at these wee elves? They’re naught but curious.”

“Curiosity killed the elflings,” said Gandalf darkly. When Gimli did not deign to respond, he said, “Well, it certainly nearly killed us on a variety of occasions.[2]”

Gimli hummed and continued working, but glanced at Gandalf from the corner of his eye rather regularly until the wizard finally said: “Do you believe that power lies in the large moments of history or in the minutiae of everyday living?”

Gimli, who had been deeply in his cups when Bilbo had spoken to him about Gandalf’s current obsession but had managed to retain the tendrils of Bilbo’s point, took a moment before he answered.

“I think,” he said, wiping his brow, “that th’everyday is what makes the large moments happen.”

“Yes,” Gandalf mused. “I think so too. Had Aragorn not thought upon his role, his place every day of his life and lived with a ranger’s skills and a courtier’s manners, he would not have been able to make the bog moments happen. Bahktin, I suppose, had a point.”

Gimli hadn’t the faintest who Bahktin was, but said, “It’s not terribly black and white, hm? Difficult for a white wizard to see shades of grey.”

Gandalf stamped down, with difficulty, the urge to cast the entire forge into everlasting darkness. He sufficed with standing and lowering his voice two octaves. “Grey has long been my strength, Gimli son of Gloin,” he said. “Mercy is a point of greyness.”

“Mercy is good being good to evil,” said Gimli, only mildly shaken by the use of his full name. “Mind the fires.”

“Gollum had good resting in him still.”

“Yes, but is that the same as being a mixture of good and evil? Of being baked of a series of ingredients that aren’t on the same recipe but join together? Not a dichotomy, but a loaf. With raisins.”

Gandalf did not approach that topic: it was well known that Legolas had recently taken up baking, and that Gimli’s review of raisin _lembas_ was anything but favourable[3]. He did consider it, though, as he chewed on the end of his pipe. What about Gríma, then? He had been Saruman’s tool, and driven by greed and lust. He was regretful, in the end, however, and he did try to make amends the only way he knew how. It had been Théoden who recognized that, however, and not Gandalf. Was that a small part of what Bahktin meant when he wrote about unity in difference[4]? Ought he be looking for the ingredients baked together, rather than assuming an internal war between the completely good and completely evil?

The problem, then, would lie in the importance of the everyday. Gandalf would argue that the everyday was crucial – sacred, even. It was that he struggled to save, it was the knowledge that the everyday, the small joys and bitter pangs of insignificant loss would continue uninterrupted that buoyed him through the events of the past many years. Even so, Gandalf was not a being of the everyday or the ordinary. He had not rested in so many years before coming here to the Undying Lands. He travelled from one catastrophic situation to the next, building and planning for the subsequent, more important, more threatening disaster. He could watch and appreciate the everyday, but he would never be of it, and that was only due to his nature. His purpose was to follow tumult and right it, and when he ceased to do that, when he sat down for a rest, he felt certain that the tumult would find him and catapult him from whatever comfortable seat he found.

Gandalf removed his pipe from his mouth and sniffed the air. “Gimli, do you smell that? Something smells rancid in the air.”

Gimli raised his head, took a deep breath in through his nostrils, and said, “It’s your nose hair aflame.”

It wasn’t that at all.

FROM THE CLASS FORUM

C_Jennings: Bahktin suggests _unfinalizability_ is the “impossibility at arriving at final conclusions for anything.[5]” What repercussions does this concept have for theories of learning and teaching? What are your beliefs regarding unfinalizability?

Teaching_star_99: Unfinalizability is a deeply profound revelation. The students we teach are undoubtedly the future of our world, and understanding that knowledge is a continuous stream of conscious knowing is critical.

Thunderbird[6]: Knowledge may be continuously evolving, as history, but it is narrow and self-aggrandizing to suggest that nothing is final. Many things come to a decisive end, and we may be thankful for that.

Teaching_star_99: it is so obvious you understand nothing about bahktin.

Thunderbird: It is painfully evident to me that you understand nothing about life.

[1] The third time, Gimli had indeed set himself on fire, but denied vehemently that was why he had called, and once he was doused spent a good deal of time lauding the virtues of a belt buckle he had constructed and Gandalf would charm so that the wearer’s belt would adjust according to their waist size. Gimli was not usually one who went in for literary criticism, but he swore on many occasions that if he heard Bilbo talk about having to tighten his belt _one more time_ , he would lose his temper. That time had, apparently, come to pass, and the belt buckle was forged. Gimli considered the copious loss of body hair worth it.

[2] See: The Balrog Incident; the Palantir Incident; the Taking of the Ring (Part I: Smeagol and Part II: Bilbo).

[3] “Perfectly good grapes gone to waste! There are three acceptable use for grapes: a light snack, wine, and growing more grapes for one of the two previous uses. Sucking all the moisture out and declaring it edible is a bloody shame.”

[4] Dimitriads, G.; Kamberelis, G. _Theory for Education_. 2006.

[5] See above.

[6] Stormcrow, a nickname Gandalf had never felt quite fit him until the exact moment he needed to make an online profile, was, quite suspiciously, already in use. The wizard was blissfully ignorant to the fact that his handle had the effect of making him even less likeable, if possible, to his classmates.

**Author's Note:**

> Updates on Saturdays! Comments welcome, kudos cherished.


End file.
